Laid Low
by Ship's Cat
Summary: Alan hated to be mollycoddled by his older brothers, yet when he really felt lousy...did they notice?


LAID LOW

_It was one those kind of dreams that are uncomfortable, not even scary or nightmarish. It was like the one's where you are late for class and you can't find your school locker or your books. Or you are walking down the street in your underwear...yeah big time uncomfortable._

_I was in Thunderbird 3 going up to Five for a routine replacement tour. John was out of chocolate. As I approached I hit the brakes. Hey, I know no brakes on a rocket, but this is dream, right? And I slow down, but not enough. I reverse rockets, stomp on the brakes some more and then try to steer around Five. Three slows up enough so we plow into Five gently. The space station crumples around me silently and I see John float by giving me the finger for ruining his rig. I reach out for him - we are suddenly together in space - and try to grab him. I have to hold my breath, because I don't have on a space suit. John starts laughing and pointing at me. He seems to have no problem breathing in the vacuum of space, so why can't I? Then I feel something hit me hard on the back and my breath explodes out of me._

Virgil whapped Alan hard again between the shoulder blades. "C'mon Al breathe!" The young man took in a ragged breath and coughed it out just as fast as the dust and fumes mixed into his lungs. The next breath was more cautious and took in more oxygen than trash. Alan pawed at his smarting eyes only to have Virgil swat his hands down. "Just a sec..." A cool mist of water washed the grit, sand, and the nasty smelling stuff from his eyes and face. Alan blinked slowly to see the familiar face of his older brother grinning grimly from a face smudged by soot and dust.

"M' Okay." Alan said automatically, but was thankful for the helpful pull to his feet. Both ignored the little sway on the way up and the quick hand under the elbow that disappeared as soon as the youngest brother got his feet steady.

Debris still fell in faint little plops and plips from the sky. The research facility had been going up like the proverbial torch when International Rescue had hit the ground. A number of people had been dancing around screaming about lost research and materials, but when questioned what those materials were they were met with silence or low mutters. Finally one brave soul mentioned silicon. Scott had made a quick call to Brains to see if their firefighting foam was going to react badly to a silicon stoked fire.

"It sh-sh- ouldn't" the scientist has mused.

Which became a moot point about four seconds after when the whole place went up with a large WWHHHOOOOF!

The explosion knocked everyone over within a 100 meter radius and Scott swore that Thunderbird 1 had even moved a few centimeters from the blast. It also put out the fire. There was nothing more left to do than pack up their unused gear and leave the clean-up to the locals.

As far as rescues go, it was hardly worth noting. Sure, they all got blown off their feet, and Alan got the breath knocked out of him, but hey, any call out with no stuff to worry about was okay by the team.

The next day Alan went up to Thunderbird 5 for his usual two week rotation. He was in a rotten mood to begin with because his brothers kept asking if he was all right.

So what if every childhood disease known to man struck Alan down with its most virulent version. So what, if he was the prone to accidents and injuries. It wasn't as if he tried to get hurt... He suspected that his brothers just loved to take care of him, to wrap him up in blankets, and yeuuchh mollycoddle him. He was a man dammit, and if anyone was to mollycoddle him well it just as well be Tintin. But now he was going to be thousands of kilometers away.

And a lot longer than he had planned on.

_!_

John clung to the rock wall with his fingertips digging his toes into the minuscule ledge that held him up. Little pebbles and dribbles of grit drifted down from above where he had a good view of Virgil's feet and backside.

"Hey, watch it." John spat the dry dirt out of his mouth and looked for his next hand hold.

"No rush guys, you have only 15 seconds to get up here." Scott's voice came from above where he was holding the safety rope.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Virgil grouched and picked up his pace which caused the thin rope between him and John to pull and thrum.

"Int-ter...fascinating." Brains crouched on the edge of the cliff the two men were climbing. He had a tension meter attached to the rope and was scribbling notes in a pad. "The n-new ropes w-work really well."

"They're a lot lighter..." Scott said keeping a loose, but sure hold on the rope slipping through his gloves as he reeled his two brothers in.

"And y-yet their tensile str-strength is 7 times that of or -ordinary nylon r-rope." Brains pushed his glasses back up on his nose.

"So, technically speaking if two people on the rope fell...it would hold." Scott looked down at his brother, Virgil, who was just starting to pull himself over the edge of the cliff face."

"No, Scott, I'm not falling..." Virgil started to complain.

"Gotta test the equipment before we use it in the field." Scott wiggled the rope in front of his brother's face.

"Hey, guys!" John's voice floated up from below. "I'm getting tired of eating Virgil's dust here!"

"Scott wants us to fall." Virgil half turned to the scientist. "Brains, is it necessary?"

"I-t would be ad-advis- oh heck yes." Brains looked all too cheerful about the thought of the two Tracy brothers bouncing and sliding down the cliff side that they often used for practice on the island.

"I'll set the belay device for 3 meters. Okay?" Scott said setting the belaying tackle.

"If we are going to fall, then why don't we make it a decent fall? Make it 6 meters." Virgil grinned or at least he showed his teeth.

"Shut up Virgil." John reminded him from below. "We gotta climb up again."

"Nah. I'll let you rappel the rest of the way down." Scott negotiated.

"Oh all right." John grumbled and flexed his fingers carefully. He kept himself in shape on the space station, but running on a stationary track or weight lifting wasn't as grueling as what Scott or his father thought would be good training. His shirt was stuck to his back, his nails were bleeding and he couldn't get enough spit together to get Virgil's dust out of his mouth.

"Okay on three. One. Two. Three." Scott said loudly.

!

Meanwhile on Thunderbird Five:

Alan fiddled with the climate controls. One minute it was too hot, and then too cold. The recycled air was the best they could get , but his throat felt scratchy and he had a dry tickly cough that bothered him every time he lay down for a rest. Diurnal rhythms got naturally out of whack on a space station and the loss of a little sleep never hurt a guy. He could catch up on seventh level of the latest action adventure on the computer and hunt for John's secret stashes. Chocolates, music cd's, questionable 'literature' that couldn't be in the same house as Granny, John had it all secreted in the most ingenious places around the space station. It was a little game the brothers played - John hiding the 'treasures' and Alan looking for them. It broke up some of the tedium of being in orbit and out of physical touch with the rest of the world. Alan bit off a chunk of the Snickers bar that he found in the tool locker. "Too easy bro..." he broke off suddenly to cough. The chocolate seemed to irritate his throat further. "Oh man."Alan moaned and reluctantly left the rest of the tempting treat to one side. He downed a large glass of water and looked at the chocolate bar longingly...maybe if he took little bites...

!

It doesn't take much time to fall, and yet as John and Virgil would explain later it seemed to be a long time before the rope gave an almighty jerk, slipped, jerked, slipped and finally slowed to a halt. On the way down Virgil managed to fend off a hearty bounce off the cliff side only to be rewarded with a rock gouging his thigh as the rope slipped alarmingly and twisted. His clawing at the rocks trying to slow the drop rained debris on John below him with one chunk making a sizeable dent in John's climbing helmet and smaller rocks bouncing off his shoulders and back.

"What the he-" Virgil called out. Brain's head popped over the edge. "Scott's hurt!"

Despite a muffled response from his older brother, Virgil began to free climb up the cliff face. John practically on his heels and would have passed him if there was room.

They arrived quickly at the top of the cliff where Brains was intent on removing the gloves from Scott's hands despite his verbal and physical protests.

"They are my best leather gloves, you don't need to cut them." Scott was protesting even though the leather was obviously turning dark with blood.

"Want me to sit on him?" Virgil asked breathing heavily.

"The rope slid right thr-through the belay br-brake. Sc-Scott tried to stop the f-fall." The scientist explained. With his two younger brothers leaning over him Scott gave up the fight for his gloves and let Brains cut them off. The palms were cut and bleeding profusely from where the rope had burned through the gloves and skin.

"Looks like that rope would make a good saw blade." Virgil said after whistling at the mess. John had already taken out bandages and handed them to Virgil who started wrapping them.

"T-to the infirmary." Brains said decisively.

"I'm fine..." Scott began and was firmly escorted by both of his brothers to the waiting transport.

"Sure, you are." John soothed. "And pigs fly."

!

"So, Scott is going to be on sick leave for at least a week. John is going to take over Thunderbird One for the time being." Jeff Tracy informed his youngest son on the radio. Alan grinned at his father.

"And Scotty agreed to that?"

Jeff Tracy responded with his own wry grin. "When I made it an order he did. That means an extra week on Five, you all right with that?"

It was a moot question as Jeff could make it an order as well, but nice to be asked anyway.

"No problemo." Alan stifled a cough behind his hand.

"You aren't getting a cold are you?" Jeff Tracy said worriedly.

"I'm fine." Alan replied. "The air is a little dry up here." Or he could lay off the chocolate and other goodies that seemed to annoy his throat.

"I could send Gordon up there."

"God! No!" Alan burst out. For someone who loved shutting himself up in Thunderbird 4 on a regular basis (And the damn thing leaked, for pete's sake!) - Gordon didn't do well on Thunderbird 5. It took John and Alan weeks to get the orbiting spacecraft back in the order they were used to, not to speak of looking for all the traps and tricks their brother planted around the craft. The sonic shower still smelled strongly of lavender and licorice - a nasty combination.

Jeff smiled and then his face turned serious as Alan started coughing again. "I want you to take something for that cough, don't want it getting worse. I remember when you were ten..." he began to reminisce.

"Daaad, I'm not a kid anymore." Alan whined like a kid. "If it gets worse, I'll take some medicine, okay?"

"Promise?" Jeff pressed knowing that Alan was too far away to stand over.

"Promise." Alan said half-reluctantly. Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a good night's sleep after all. And his appetite was really off - everything seemed to hurt his throat to eat. Luckily a lot of the food available was soup and soft stuff. He would kill for an ice cream about now.

"Come in International Rescue! This is the Pacific Rim Earthquake Alert Centre. We have a possible level 3 alert off the coast of Thailand." The disastrous 2004 tsunami and the equally destructive 2019 earthquake /tsunami had led to ever vigilant ways of monitoring the earth's crust. A series of undersea earthquake detection stations set up and monitored by all the Pacific Rim countries had been in use for about a decade.

"Thanks for the heads up PREAC. Let us know if the alert status changes. We will be on amber alert. International Rescue, out." Alan coughed a few times. "Did you catch that, sir?"

"FAB Thunderbird 5. We are on amber alert." Amber alert meant that no one left the island and the Thunderbirds were launch ready. Pod 4, with Thunderbird 4 loaded, was already attached to Thunderbird 2.

Alan yawned, stretched, and coughed. He promised to take some medicine and so he would. He popped two Ibuprofens and an anti-histamine. No sooner than he had stretched out on his bunk when the alarm rang.

"International Rescue." Alan cleared his throat, his voice seemed to have dropped an octave to a deep bass. Dang, he sounded like Father. "What is the nature of your emergency?"

"This is Team Seven of World Government Enforcement. We need immediate evac of two of our members." Alan could hear gunfire and heavy artillery in the background.

"I'm sorry sir, but International Rescue is non-political and non-military." Alan began regretfully.

"I ain't gonna let JD bleed out over your stupid non-policy!" A hotheaded voice interrupted.

"Shut up, Buck. Tell your commander that General Travis is calling in a marker."

"Uh, right Team Seven. Hold on."

"That's what we are doing." Was the terse reply.

Alan shook his head. This was a new one for him.

Jeff Tracy was luckily still up even though it was the wee hours of the morning on Tracy Island and the language he used hearing the message would have had Granny reaching for a bar of soap.

"Okay, Alan. I'll be sending Thunderbird One out on this one solo just in case PREAC ups the tsunami alert level. I want you to keep on top of the communication with this one. Minimum traffic and keep it as brief as possible." Jeff scrubbed his face with his hands. "It must be pretty bad if Travis called in a favor."

It was on the tip of Alan's tongue to ask who General Travis was and what his father owed him, but he knew the men were waiting for his answer.

"Team Seven this is International Rescue. Our commander has given a go for retrieval. Please give us your coordinates and I will get back to you on ETA."

"We are on the border of Gurmucistan and Burkis. Artillery fire caused a landslide and two of my men were seriously injured by falling rock. We are a neutral party, but neither side is letting us through. Reinforcements are on their way, but ..." the man took a breath. "JD and Vin won't last until then. We just need to get them to safety. Here's our coordinates." He rattled them off. "Tell your man, this might pay Travis' debt, but Captain Larabee and his team will owe you one, and that isn't a small thing."

"FAB, Captain." Alan automatically threw a salute even though the man couldn't see him.

"Thunderbird One, this is Thunderbird Five. Entering coordinates into your navigation computer. What is your ETA to danger zone?"

"This is Thunderbird One." John's quiet, calm voice was heard over the rumbling of the powerful rocket engines as he took off. FAB on coordinates. ETA 28 minutes." He paused and gave a dry chuckle. "And before you ask, Scott was hopping mad. Thunderbird One out."

Alan followed the flight of Thunderbird One. Every now and then he would cough harshly, but he didn't want to leave his post even to get a glass of water. There was a brief radio contact from Tracy Island to Thunderbird One from Scott, the sound of a bit of tussle and Virgil taking the radio from Scott.

"Sorry, Scott. Orders."

"Traitor." Was the last muttered reply from his oldest brother, then the requested radio silence.

John kept his transmissions short and to the point. Transcripts of his report was as follows:

_John:"Danger zone."_

_John:"See target."_

_John:"Landing"_

At this point one can hear sporadic gunfire in the background and the whistle of artillery shells.

The shouts of several men could be heard and then became clear.

_Captain Larabee:"International Rescue?"_

_John:"Yes."_

_Larabee:"Vin Tanner. JD Dunne. Medic Nathan Jackson."_

_John:"Good."_

_Vin: "Hell Chris he speaks as much as you do."_

_Larabee:"Shut up Vin."_

_Unidentified voice:"Incoming!"_

A large explosion is heard and then silence.

John:"_Missed."_

_Medic Jackson:"You're bleeding."_

_John:"I 'm fine."_

_Medic Jackson: "No you aren't. Stand still while I put a bandage on it. You gotta fly us out of here!"_

_John: Well, of course...ouch!_

The rest is unintelligible grumbling from the medic Jackson about people who say they are 'fine'. Next is the sound of Thunderbird One's hatch closing.

_John: Thunderbird One leaving danger zone. (Long pause) No damage to Thunderbird One. ETA to hospital twenty minutes._

_Thunderbird Five: FAB Thunderbird One. Reporting damages._

_John: I'm fine-_

_Thunderbird Five: (cough, cough, maybe a coughing laugh) Good try. No ._

_!_

"You should have seen it Alan. John plants Thunderbird One down soft as a daisy. Even Scott can't fault the landing. Then he comes out of the cockpit and falls flat on his face. Swooned, I swear." Virgil smiled though at the time it was pretty frightening. Alan had warned them that John had been wounded, but they didn't know how bad.

"It was mostly blood loss. Cleaning the cockpit was a chore. Anyway John's laid up in bed for at least five days. You don't mind being up there longer do you?" Virgil didn't wait for an answer. "Anyways, with the tsunami alert we need Gordo down here with Thunderbird Four. He's been talking about some new tsunami defense called Project Backwash. Sounds like toilet repair to me. Well, nice talking to you kid. I gotta go keep Scott and John entertained so they don't kill each other. Virgil out."

He didn't notice that Alan looked pale and had dark circles under his eyes. When he coughed he felt as if a lung was going to be turned inside out. He had even started a course of antibiotics. Which didn't help his appetite any, antibiotics gave his stomach a hard time. Granny always made him a big bowl of tapioca which made him feel better. Gordon teased him unmercifully about his 'fish eyes', there wasn't any use moaning over what he couldn't have. It wasn't John's or Scott's fault that they were laid up, and better here than handling two crabby older brothers.

By the end of week, John was running a fever and Alan was on his third week in Thunderbird 5 and his second round of antibiotics. He had even consulted with Brains about his cough who prescribed the antibiotics, (Alan didn't admit it being his second round), plenty of liquids, and rest.

The Pacific Rim Earthquake Alert Center upped their alert to a 4. Tremors in the seabed of the Indian Ocean were getting stronger. Project Backwash was put into ready mode. Gordon was happy to acquaint his little brother with details.

"A string of explosive charges are laid on the projected path of the tsunami. When the wave gets close enough, " Gordon spread his arms apart, "Kaboom! The detonation creates a backwash that negates the power of the wave. Like sound wave dampeners. I betcha Seaview is laying the charges as we speak." Gordon looked like a kid in front of a candy window. "Man what I wouldn't give to be on her now!"

Alan pinched his nose. He had a headache and his eyes felt gritty. "Seaview?" he croaked.

"Hello. The greatest submarine in the whole world. Well after my baby Thunderbird Four, of course. The Nelson Institute of Marine Research is behind the whole project. I got to go on her once you know."

"You got on who?" Alan felt dizzy and thick headed.

"The Seaview, you twit. When I was a middie in WASP we got a tour of the Seaview when she was visit HQ. Hey, what's with you?"

Alan perked up a little. Finally, someone noticed he wasn't feeling good.

"I swear Alan, you gotta read more than those motor magazines even if they got hot chicks on the cover."

"Hey. I keep up with the news. I know what Seaview is. Jerk." Alan muttered crossly.

"Fine. I'm off to have some chocolate cake that Granny made for Scott...and me!" Gordon said with a triumphant glare. "Enjoy your prefab cardboard and mush."

Alan felt sick with the idea of chocolate. Gordon interpreted the sick look to refer to the prefab cardboard and mush.

Alan was leaning over the toilet and throwing up his dinner and gunk when a call came in. He grabbed a towel and managed to answer.

"International Rescue. What, (cough, wheeze) is the nature of your problem?"

"This is the SRN Seaview. Admiral Nelson speaking. I have urgent need of Thunderbird 4. Our flying submarine is damaged and we need help laying charges for ..."

"Project Backwash, sir. Gor - our aquanaut has informed us of the situation."

"Well, you get Gordon Tracy out of his rack and out here as fast as possible. I am downloading coordinates to you now."

"Huh?" Was all that Alan could say. How did Admiral Nelson know about Gordon?

"Son, your father is a good aeronautics engineer, but he doesn't know subs like I do, I designed Thunderbird 4 for your brother."

Alan shook his head and gave a wry grin, boy did his father have a lot to explain about. First the debt to General Travis, and now the fact that Thunderbird 4 was designed by the great Admiral Harriman Nelson. Gordy would have kittens.

!

The Nelson Institute got all the publicity, of course. Not that International Rescue cared for fame. The potential tsunami wasn't stopped completely, but damage was much less than it could have been. Gordon, with Captain Crane of the Seaview, were in Thunderbird 4 setting charges up until the last moment. It had been caught between both the tsunami and the backwash wave.

"It was like being in a washing machine." Gordon told Alan from his berth in Seaview's sickbay. For someone with cracked ribs and a broken collar bone, he looked remarkably cheerful. Thunderbird 4 was parked securely within the mighty submarine and they promised to bring both home in a week, both dented and dinged but on the whole, alive and well.

"When were you in a washing machine?" Alan was losing his voice.

"Oh, I tried one out at a laundromat once. Threw up at least five times."

"Yeah, me too." Alan said quietly.Every time he tried to sleep he would wake up coughing so hard he threw up. When he breathed there was a annoying whistling sound.

"Captain Crane said I did a good job." Gordon enthused. "That's like, wow!"

"Great." Alan squeaked.

"Hey, better get the radio fixed, you sound like a mouse. Hey, gotta go. Doc wants me to sleep, now. Say hello to the guys for me will you?" Gordon signed off.

Alan put his aching head in his folded arms. He wanted to go home. He wanted the hot sun on his tired and chilled body. He wanted to eat something cool and soft. He wanted someone to fuss over him.

"Get a grip on yourself, Alan." He whispered to himself. "Three of your brothers are injured and you are complaining about the flu."

!

Scott felt a sudden chill pass over him, even though he was sitting in a sunny part of the lounge. Virgil was playing the piano. John was snoring softly on the couch, his wounded leg propped up on a pillow. The fever had left, but he tired easily. Gordon was in good hands on the Seaview and was probably being spoiled rotten by the crew. That left Alan. He hadn't talked to Alan, it seemed, for ages. His usual two week stint on the space station had been drawn out to almost four weeks, now. His big brother sense was tingling.

Virgil, ever sensitive to Scott's thoughts stopped playing.

"What?" he asked.

"Scott's worried about Alan." John murmured from the couch without opening his eyes.

"What are you guys, mind readers?" Scott looked at his brothers.

"Nah, we just know you. You're a worry wort." John opened an eye and then shut it again with a sigh. "Virgil will have to drive."

"Drive where?" Virgil asked as he got up and stretched until his bones cracked.

"God, I hate when you do that."John complained and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "To go bring him home, of course. We are running out of able bodies."

"I'm almost healed." Scott said wiggling his fingers at John.

"Uh huh."

"Sure you are." His brothers said in unison.

"I'll go too." Scott said firmly.

"Of course."Virgil said and closed the piano lid. "Let's give him a call."

"Surprise him." John murmured and the snoring started up again.

"I could take him some chocolate cake." Scott mused. "I think I hid a piece in the back of the cold room."

Virgil started whistling the death dirge and tried to look innocent.

"You little..." Scott cocked a bandaged hand.

Virgil quickly pointed to the sleeping John.

"I'm wounded." John reminded them in between snores.

Jeff Tracy was talking on the vidphone to Admiral Nelson of the Seaview. They were obviously swapping stories because Jeff merely waved a hand to the two men when they said they were going to pick up Alan.

Virgil had spent most of the trip fending off Scott's attempts to pilot. Scott's hands were at the itchy stage of healing and 'scratching' them on the joystick seemed natural - to him.

It wasn't exactly possible to sneak up on Thunderbird 5. Proximity alarms, fail-safes, radar, sonar, string strung with tin cans , and the hollow ringing thump Thunderbird 3 made when docking were sure give aways. Yet, Alan wasn't at the airlock to greet them.

"Alan?" Scott's voice rang hollowly and eerily in the space station. The same shiver that he had earlier ran up his back again. The living quarters were empty, the bed neatly made and the kitchen had a pot of tea simmering on the counter.

They found Alan asleep in the control room, sitting in one of the crash chairs. Drool dribbled from one corner of his mouth. There were dark circles around his eyes and he looked fragile.

"They are so cute when they are asleep." Virgil said loudly.

Alan lifted his head and looked at them blearily. "Hi, guys." he said hoarsely. "I made some tea. Wanna cup?" He got wearily to his feet, they could notice that he had lost weight.

"Tea?" Virgil echoed. Tea was the dishwater stuff that you had to drink when visiting Lady Penelope.

"I could have had you bring more honey up if you had called first." Alan looked at Virgil reproachfully. He seemed to be avoiding a direct look at Scott.

"Alan." Scott began in the tone of voice that his brothers knew well. The 'pay attention' voice.

He stood in front of his little brother, who was only an inch or so shorter than him and put his bandaged hands lightly on his shoulders. "We've come to take you home. Why didn't you tell us you were sick?"

Alan found the floor infinitely more interesting than meeting the searching gaze of his brother.

"It's just the flu," he mumbled. "You guys are hurt worse."

He found himself being pulled into a comfortable hug. For a few moments he relished the warmth and security he felt leaning his aching head on Scott's shoulder. When he raised his head Virgil already had his kit slung over his shoulder and was grinning broadly."Let's go home."

!

Alan stretched, sighed, and scratched his chest lazily. He blinked at the sun filtering in through the blinds in his room. He had been met with just the right amount cossetting to make him feel better, but not to feel like a little kid.

Brains was more than a little mad at him for taking antibiotics unprescribed, but as they seemed to be working after a second dose he was more forgiving. Just to prove the point that HE was the doctor and not Alan he took some X-rays, enough blood to make a vampire sing and threatened further nasty sounding treatment if Alan didn't follow his orders.

As he got up, he could feel the annoying tickle of a cough starting up. He was brushing his teeth when he started to cough, cough, and cough until he had to throw up phlegm and toothpaste, and last night's dinner made a reappearance. For a moment spots swam before his eyes and he could feel himself begin to black out.

Taking a deep breath he steadied himself against the sink on shaky legs.

"I'm getting better. I'm home. I don't want to be sick anymore." Alan whispered to himself. He got dressed in shorts and a t-shirt but slung a sweater over his shoulders in case he should feel cold. Not feeling hungry, funny how throwing up really ruined eating, he moseyed out to the pool area. The sounds of the birds calling, the wind rustling the leaves of the many plants, insects whirring and chirping was soothing after the mechanical environment of Thunderbird 5. How on earth could John stay up there so long? He lay back on the chaise lounge and closed his eyes so he could hear the faint roar of the waves hitting the beach. He could have slept there if he didn't have to keep on coughing.

Brains frowned at his breakfast. He had a heavy schedule today. There were the potential repairs of Thunderbird 4 to plan, the climbing rope fiasco had to be tested strenously in the lab, he would have a look at Scott's stitches, as well as John's. Alan's X-ray came out fuzzy, he'd have to take another one, wanted the next quarter's budget for Thunderbird maintenance at the end of the week and he wanted to clean the lab in case Harriman Nelson wanted to come and talk engineer shop when Seaview came for a visit. The last thought made him smile at his ham and eggs. He'd have Mr. Tracy bring the boys down to the infirmary after breakfast, that way they would come 'willingly'.

!

"So, who's f-first?" Brains tried to sound cheery. John and Scott both grimaced.

"Me." Alan said gruffly. "You are just taking x-rays right? No poking, prodding," he smiled wickedly at his brothers who were not looking nervous (yeah, right!) "cutting, slicing, gouging..."

"Enough Alan." Jeff said softly.

"Yes father." Alan tried to look sweet and stuck his tongue out at his brothers when their father wasn't looking.

He went with Brains to the x-ray room and was soon pulling his t-shirt on. It had taken a little longer than usual because it was hard to stop coughing. Brains frowned over the top of his glasses.

"I-I d-d-don't like the s-sound of that." he pulled out a stethescope and listened intently to Alan's breathing.

"I'm getting better." Alan said half hopefully.

The x-ray developer gave a little ping and Brains pulled the image up on his computer. He frowned and hit the print button.

He pored over the picture carefully nose almost on the paper. He then pulled out the x-ray from yesterday and peered at it just as carefully.

"G-give me your h-hands."

Alan raised his eyebrows, but did as he was told. Brains looked at the nail beds.

"I'm g-going to have to d-do a bronchoscopy. You have s-some p-problem in your lungs." the scientist said seriously.

Alan swallowed and coughed until he was almost out of breath. He wasn't surprised to find himself surrounded by his family.

"What's a bronchothingy?" He asked steadying himself against Virgil.

"Brains is going to put a tube down your throat and into your lungs to have a look at what is there." Jeff explained carefully.

"Now?" Alan looked around in panic. He only needed an x-ray, nothing else. His father and brothers seemed to be pushing him towards their operating treatment room. It didn't help when he saw Brains pulling out something that looked like the size of a garden hose. He dug in his heels.

"I'm okay. I can take more antibiotics...rest, ah..."

"Alan. Brains has got to look in your lungs, so he can find the best treatment. We want you well." John was looking white and pinched.

"We'll be right here." Jeff soothed as he assisted his youngest son onto the operating table.

"Alan, y-you are already cyanotic. I- I n-need to do this." Brains apologized. "I can only g-give you a relaxer and local anesthetic." He nodded to Virgil who was setting up nasal canula.

"We'll be with you the whole time." Scott took his hand and held it firmly, even though it must have been uncomfortable. Virgil sat by his head and talked to him about anything and everything to keep his mind off the uncomfortable procedure. John had been standing at the end of the bed adding his own stories and comments until his leg began to ache. His father was pacing around the room, looking over Brains' shoulder and trying to figure out what the images being sent from the tiny camera to the overhead screen meant.

"Aha!" Brains said triumphantly as he snagged a sample from Alan's lung wall. Reeling it in he took it over to his powerful microscope. Everyone had stopped talking and with bated breath were waiting for the results.

"Crystal Nanite Silica." He said without a trace of stutter.

"Silica?" Jeff questioned. "Where were you exposed to silica?" He looked to Scott for answers.

Scott would have snapped his fingers had his hand not been bandaged. "That industrial fire that blew itself out. But, we all got a lungful of that stuff. Why aren't we sick?"

Virgil spoke up, "Alan got more than the rest of us, I guess, he had almost stopped breathing."

"You didn't mention that in the debrief." Jeff said accusingly.

"Umm. It could also be from Alan being up in space for a longer period of time." John looked nervous. "Studies have shown that prolonged exposure to UV radiation can mutate some sicknesses and make them more virulent."

"Th-that's why John doesn't heal so f-fast." Brains explained. "And probably why Alan is s-sick."

Alan grimaced around the tube stuck in his throat. Okay, explanation found, how about getting this hunk of plastic gone and cure?

"I'll re-remove the t-tube and st-start you on an inhaler and oxygen therapy. Y-you'll be b-better in no t-time." Brains explained.

!

And so he was, within a week or two, just like the doctor ordered.

John went happily back up to Thunderbird 5 knowing that most of the hidden chocolate was still intact.

The Seaview brought Gordon and Thunderbird 4 home. Gordon was unspeakably smug about his adventures for weeks. Brains proudly showed off his lab to a suitably impressed Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane.

Scott's hands healed nicely. He got a new set of climbing gloves and spent hours working oil into them to make them just the way he liked them. Despite shrewd questioning and broad hint dropping, Scott wasn't able to get the story out of his father about him and General Travis. This would remain a mystery for some other day.

And maybe, the experimental crystal nanite silica were mutating into something else in Alan's body.


End file.
